


What Lurks in the Shadows

by Oblivian03



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Creepy!Morgoth, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Slightly AU (possibly), Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 07:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18006245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblivian03/pseuds/Oblivian03
Summary: Melkor is famed for the obsession he had with Fëanáro is well known, but as ever in these tales, such obsession can easily turn to the son. A series of drabbles inspired by a headcanon of Outofangband.





	What Lurks in the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Their Headcanons About the Orchard](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/461900) by Outofangband. 



> Just a series of drabbles inspired by Outofangband’s headcanon that Morgoth stalked Maedhros in Valinor, which revolves around the awesome way they’ve dealt with the rule of primogeniture (i.e. firstborn sons) in Tolkien’s world. Check out their stuff on AO3 and Tumblr because it’s pretty great (though can become a bit dark here and there). I’ve tried to stay true to their idea of Maedhros and Morgoth. Let’s not question the problem of age or timelines of events in Valinor though… In any case, this might be slightly AU. 
> 
> Note: I use the Quenya names here – there’s a list at the end for those who need it.

It began as a shadow, a dark splotch in the corner of his young eyes that was there for a brief moment before it disappeared like the dandelion head he blew into the wind. His father asked him what he was looking at. Maitimo shrugged, then laughed, still enough of a child for his attention to quickly flit to something else. It was a blue-winged butterfly only a few feet away.

The day was a rare one with just the two of them, away from the crowds of Tirion and his vocal younger brothers who surely kept his King grandfather well entertained, away from tutors and kin who gushed over the pregnant wives of Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë, away from the general noise and bustle of life. The Crown Prince indulged in his firstborn’s desire to explore. He laid splayed on his back as he twisted grass blades between his clever fingers, his grey eyes vigilant but for once content.

Strained lines had recently appeared around his face, likely made from arguments with his half-siblings and concerns about the Dark Vala being free, but those lines were smooth now as he watched his red-haired son. The elfling’s innocent delight as the butterfly landed on his nose stirred a love in Fëanáro greater than he could describe. It was warm and good and chased his fears away. Much like the butterfly was chased away by Maitimo’s movements.   

“Come, Nelyo,” he said, amused as his child blinked mournful eyes at the insect’s fading silhouette. “Let me tell you a story about the stars and Trees and how your grandfather Mahtan got me drunk in the hours before I was to ask for your mother’s hand in marriage.”

~ ~ ~

Maitimo was with his father the next few times the shadow appears, but the fifth time he was not. His father had taken refuge in his forge, angry at something indecipherable from his muttering. Nerdanel tended to their latest babe, a howling red-faced thing that Maitimo was proud to call his brother. Maitimo himself hid from his two other brothers, each wanting to drag him into their bickering to support them against the other. It was not that he did not love them. It was just that conflict had never been the red headed elf’s favourite thing, especially when the last echoes of their parents’ argument had only just faded from the air.

The young Prince drew his legs up closer to him, the oak branch he sat on swaying slightly. Everything seemed too loud and his wished, not for the first time and not without a little guilt, that his family were more peaceful. Or that Tyelkormo, at least, would stop dragging mud over Makalaurë’s sheet music. Even as a child, his songbird brother displayed clear talent for the art of music and songwriting. Fëanáro had only been a little disappointed that yet another son would not be joining him in the forge. Mostly he had boasted of Makalaurë’s talent to all who would listen.

Beneath the quiet of the Mingling, Nerdanel had assured her husband in hushed tones that he would surely have one child who could match him in his skill with a hammer when he had just as quietly lamented Tyelkormo’s sole affinity for nature. Neither knew Maitimo had overhead, and though he knew they held no grudge against him, the child could not help but feel a failure as his father’s eldest. Was it not the first son who took up their father’s trade? But forge work had not been for him, not remotely, though his work was passable in and of itself.

Maitimo wrung his hands. Things would work themselves out, his mother always said. Yet, he could not quite quell that bubble of anxiety inside him. So he closed his eyes, thinking of the last time he had seen his eldest cousin and how they had laughed together as their shared grandfather had tripped down a set of wet stairs in a most ungainly fashion. Findekáno’s face was fair, even in his memory, and the longer he thought of his friend the calmer he felt.

In such a state, Maitimo did not realise at first that the strange shadow had returned. Its unsettling aura seeping up from beneath the foliage of the tree is what eventually alerted him. Shyly he glanced down, taken immediately aback by the fact the shadow seemed to be staring back at him. For a moment it seemed to shift. The air around it shimmered and what seemed almost like a face began to-

“Nelyo!” Tyelkormo’s voice rangs out and Maitimo’s stomach suddenly filled with an inexplicable dread at what might happen should his brother come across the shadow too. But it fades even as Tyelkormo’s dulcet tones rang out again, his new pup gifted to him by Oromë barking at his side.

“Nelyo!” his brother called a third time, looking up as Huan comes to paw at the tree. “Mother wants us to come inside for supper.”

“Alright,” Maitimo replied, slipping carefully from the tree and passing off the shadow as some strange flight of fancy. He caught the arm of his younger brother who was staring longingly up at the grand oak. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Tyelkormo huffed and scuffed his feet along the ground. Reluctantly he followed his elder brother, whistling to Huan to heel. The pup obeyed the command, already a model hound for his master. As it was, neither elfling realised how the Vala-gifted dog had been sniffing and softly growling at the ground beneath the oak tree.

~ ~ ~

When the gates to Yavanna’s orchard had been open, Maitimo had found himself unable to resist his curiosity. So he had entered, not quite sure that his entry was permitted. Yet, beneath the green and golden leaves of the trees that lined a quaint path, the elfling found his anxieties quietened. It was a beautiful place. Certainly, it was different from the bustle of life back at his father’s house. There he had tended to his five brothers, settling disputes between them and directing them towards more productive uses of their time that would aid, instead of hinder, their parents. His mother he had helped go about some basic housework before fetching her repaired tools from the forge. His father had sent him on an errand to deliver a message and a commission to one of King Finwë’s favoured Lords, granting his son permission to take a few hours to himself on the return home to do as he pleased. So he had ended up by the orchard’s gate.

Maitimo came to sit on a bench, a wad of parchment on his lap and a stick of charcoal in his hand. It was this that he used to draw, trying to capture the essence of one of the peculiarly shaped trees and hoping that he had not overstepped any bounds. The work was peaceful and grounding, helping him to whittle away the time in a way that did not feed his fears.

It is only when his ears picked up the sound of another’s footsteps that his anxiety appeared again. There was a power to them that did not belong to any elf and briefly Maitimo found himself wondering if Yavanna herself had come to reprimand him.

The elfling stood as a gesture of respect, clutching his drawings to his chest. He was focused intently on the direction he thought the sound came from, waiting with a dry mouth to see if it was indeed the Vala herself or a Maia who worked under her. In the end, it was neither.

“Hello.”

The voice behind him made him jump, a slight blush spreading from his freckled cheeks to his ears. There stood the Dark Vala known as Melkor, Lord Manwë’s infamous brother released from his imprisonment in Nämo’s halls.

Maitimo’s shock silenced him for a moment before he managed to return the greeting, bowing low from a politeness ingrained into him from an early age. The Lord of Darkness nodded in appreciation.

“It is Nelyafinwë, no?” the Vala asked.

The elf dipped his own head, unease prickling along the back of his neck. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Nelyafinwë Maitimo,” Melkor mused. “A finely chosen name, if I might say so. You are quite lovely to behold.”

His compliment did not sit well with Fëanáro’s son and it was only because he forced them that faint words of thanks leave from between his teeth. Maitimo could not quite put his finger on it, but something about the being before him riled his warier side. This is the same Vala that his father despised, and his King grandfather had told them to be careful of. Yet, Lord Manwë had released his supposedly changed brother long years ago and Melkor had done little to nothing to disturb the peace in Valinor. Certainly, there was no rule against him talking to a trespasser in Yavanna’s orchard.

“This is the first time we have met,” the Vala stated.

“Yes, my Lord,” Maitimo answered, though it had not really been a question.

“Ah, forgive me. I have been remiss in my attentions to your family,” Melkor said. His smile, when it came, seemed like that of a hungry wolf in the shadows cast over his face. “You are quite important, are you not, as a Prince of the Noldor?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Maitimo said. “My father is the Crown Prince of his father, who is King.”

“Good, good…”

The Vala’s eyes regarded him and Maitimo did his best not to shift uncomfortably beneath them. Something in his head was telling him to leave, but it would be perceived as a slight should he withdraw from the conversation so soon.

“Tell me more about your family,” Melkor finally said, taking the child’s previous spot on the bench. He gestures for the elfling to sit beside him. “I would like to learn if you would indulge me.”

Maitimo finds he cannot refuse, his tongue not as eloquent as any of the adults in his life to excuse himself from the situation. So he sits and talks, answering seemingly inane questions about his family. The line of inquiry quickly turns to focus on his father, the grand Spirit of Fire Míriel had birthed, and to himself as well as his father’s eldest son. It put Maitimo on edge, but there was nothing off with the wording of the questions and so he could not protest their asking.

Time passed quickly like this and Melkor’s attention turned to the drawings Maitimo had been making. He asked to look at them and, again unable to refuse without offence, the elfling gave them to him. The Vala was critical in his appraisal, quickly noting the flaws of the art. It somewhat deflates Maitimo and he finds he cannot look at them when they are eventually given back.

Melkor stood.

“It has been a pleasure, Nelyafinwë Maitimo,” he said, drawing out the syllables of both names. “I hope we shall meet again.”

He faded into the tree-line, though the memory of the dark interest in his eyes did not. Looking up at the sky, Maitimo realised how late he was for the light of Teleprion was already beginning to mingle with that of golden Laurelin.

The child raced home, berating himself for not returning sooner despite his inability to do so at the time. It was his father who greeted him, already saddling a horse to look for his wayward son. Yet, it was relief and not anger Maitimo was subjected too, Fëanáro immediately taking him up into his arms and pressing a series of kisses to his forehead.

“I am sorry, father, I found someone to speak to and lost track of time,” he said.

“What matters is that you are here now,” Fëanáro replied, his mood a strange one and worry only half faded from his face. “Go to your mother now. She is in the midst of preparing supper for us to partake.”

The Noldor Lord and Prince placed his son on the ground, watching him until the door to the house closed behind him before leading his horse back to its stables. Maitimo himself endured a scolding from his mother before she set him about helping his brothers prepare the table. It was Makalaurë who told him that their father had an argument with someone important and had been worrying about Maitimo’s whereabouts ever since. Who he had argued with and what he had been worried about, neither brother knew nor sought to ask. Instead they pulled faces over the baby and wondered silently at the strange events that had come to pass during their days.

~ ~ ~

He was older before he thinks on the shadow or the Vala again. When he did, he was alone on an open road not frequently travelled by others coming from his uncle’s house back to his own.

It was not that the clouds had covered the sky overhead, but it suddenly seemed darker everywhere around him. What threw the shade was a matter of mystery and unease prickled along Maitimo’s skin.

That same unease spread to his horse, who reared and backstepped when a shadow rose along the side of the road. It quickly gained a form, shoulders and arms and the hazy illusion of a head turning themselves towards him. A flickering hand reached out as though to snatch him away into the maw of darkness. The figure laughed in a disquieting manner.

Maitimo rode hard.

Upon his return, Tyelkormo scolded his eldest brother for wearing out his horse so. Dismounting, Maitimo murmured an apology, promising to bring the noble steed some treats from the kitchen when he managed to sneak them away. That black figure lurked in the back of his mind.

“You look like you’ve seen Carnistir dancing naked again,” Tyelkormo said as he finally took in his brother’s pale face. “What happened to make you so reckless that you fly at a gallop all the way to our house?”

“I am fairly sure you put him up to that,” Maitimo said dryly, but he considered his brother’s question. That laugh was still vivid in his mind, like a tolling bell that seemed to signal some unforetold doom. Perhaps sharing it would ease the feeling. “I thought I saw-”

“I do not care what they think your brother said!” came their mother’s interrupting shout from the house. “It is foolishness to believe them.”

“You would have me ignore such blatant words then?” their father answered, no less furious.

“Those words are as blatant as you are a poor smith. You would see this is if you used that paranoid head of yours to think.”

“As opposed to what, Nerdanel? No, don’t leave off the insult there. I would have you finish what you think of me.”

Her answer they did not hear, but nor did they need to. Brother looked to brother across the horse, both grim faced and weary.

“You were saying?” Tyelkormo asked, but Maitimo shook his head. He would not add to their family’s troubles now for an odd happenstance that likely bore no significance at all. It was strange was all; they were in Valinor and nothing bad could happen whilst the Valar kept their watch. His mother’s words to her husband rang inside his head. It was just a misplaced bought of paranoia caused by a lack of sleep.

“It is nothing,” the redhead replied, ignoring his brother’s disbelieving face. “I am merely tired from the journey. Shall we rub down the horse and loose him with the others into the paddock?"

Their parents’ shouting grew to more audible levels once again and Tyelkormo agreed without protest. Thus, the brothers retreated to the more peaceful atmosphere of the stable to escape the tremulous air.

~ ~ ~

There were whispers on the air now, vile things that spoke of kin turning upon kin. Of course, they were nothing so blatantly slanderous towards the ruling Noldor House, but gossip had a way of implying more than it outright said.

“You can tell the worth of someone by how much they gossip,” Nerdanel had once told her eldest son though he was but a babe, her face splotched red in anger at the quiet suggestions that her plain old self had somehow enchanted the Crown Prince into a marriage. “And jealously is an ugly fuel for a fire.” Then she had bopped Maitimo on his tiny nose and complained to him of her father’s latest friendly challenging of Aluë. Still, such challenges were always worth a watch even if Mahtan never won.

Yet, while the past bore sweet memories to those who had lived it, the present brought bitter tidings to those who did not want them. Maitimo increasingly found himself striding around corners in Tirion only for the elves milling there to fall into a telling silence upon his arrival. Several friends had drifted from him, others offered him sympathetic gazes that seemed more pitying than anything else. It did not help that his father and uncle’s fights had too increased over the years, spilling out from the privacy of their homes into the public more than once. Nor did it help that Finwë, esteemed King though he was, was reluctant to get involved.

“Poor lad, with a father such as his,” the whispers said as he went past.

“Do you think he takes after his father?”

“Oh, such a beautiful face! But I would fear the temper hidden behind it. Remember when the Crown Prince, with respect to him of course, lost his own when a model he had been presenting to his father was damaged by water not hours before?”

“I heard that his half-brother, Lord Ñolofinwë had deliberately sabotaged him so.”

And so the whispers went, many more untrue than they were epitomes of honesty. Even now the phrase ‘half-brother’ was thrown around more often by strangers than the any of the elves who bore such a unique title. This would come to change, but in the moment he was in, Maitimo could not know this. So he did his best to shrug off the words and fight down the anxiety they built within him of his family’s future and his own.

“I wonder if the King will put more of a priority of training his eldest grandson; I hear the Prince is close friends with Lord Ñolofinwë’s eldest son.”

“Or perhaps he may favour Findekáno more now that Fëanáro is out of favour with him again.”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

“Regardless, Nelyafinwë is quiet and the court calls for a louder soul than he. If not Findekáno, then Findaráto for sure, though I will agree that the eldest of them is the better diplomat.”  

“And what else are you good at, I wonder?” a cold voice spoke from within the shadows.

Maitimo ignored the shiver that came with the comment and continued on, hoping that soon the turmoil in his family would settle back to a manageable, though fragile, peace.

~ ~ ~

The day he comes of age was a joyous one. Neither of his grandfathers spared any expense and even the Kings Olwë and Ingwë bestowed gifts upon him, one a fine stallion and the other a set of books filled with the newest notes of several researchers he had been following. The festivities were splendid as well, and he danced and drunk and sung with those he had the good fortune to call friend and family.

At one point Manwë himself made an appearance, Varda dripping with silver jewels his side, bringing their own gift for the newly adult Prince. It was a magnificent robe woven around the hemline with what seemed like starlight. The hue was a deep and rich purple, a rare and vivid dye that took much effort to harvest from the needed shellfish and make. The detailing, picked out with threads of silver and green, highlighted by gold, was likewise exquisite. Maitimo had thanked both Valar profusely for such a grand gift. Still, they had left fairly quickly afterwards, driven off by Fëanáro’s unspoken hostility. Aluë and Oromë, however, stayed for most of the time and each also gifted Maitimo things as per their own domain.

The Dark Vala did not show and no one missed him in the slightest. Yet, when the partying grew too much and Maitimo had drifted to the outskirts of the celebration where the light was dimmer, a strange sensation overtook him. Whether it was the drink or the shadows which seemed to move in a peculiar fashion he knew not, but a wave of tiredness had quickly overcome him and Fëanáro’s eldest son had fallen asleep to the dreamlike sensation of hands coming to pull him towards a chest. Something was said, but upon reflection Maitimo thought it must have been a dream for he could not remember whatever it had been.

It was Findekáno who found him first, laughing at the headache Maitimo bore as he stirred and his inability to hold his wine as well as he should. His parents and brothers swarmed him when his cousin dragged him back to where they were gathered and it took only a sympathetic look from Finwë to let him retreat back to the more private wings of his palace, saying he would only be needed for the farewells. At one point, as he laid in the darkened room still dazed from his impromptu sleep, Fëanáro entered and sat by him. The great smith said nothing but reached out once to smooth his hair back like he had when Maitimo was young. Then he had left his son alone to his thoughts.

~ ~ ~

There was a day when the world seems at rights and Maitimo had been granted leave to go hunting with Findekáno alone. They are in a rush to prepare, it having been confirmed at the last moment possible. The redhaired elf dashes up to his room to fetch his bracers while his cousin fetched their bows, both eager for the opportunity to escape their duties and demanding siblings for a while.

It was only after he had torn through half his room that he realised not all the mess had been his. The elf grimaced and made a mental note to complain to Tyelkormo later about letting Huan loose in the house, already hearing Findekáno calling from below for him to hurry up. Only later Maitimo would realise that a pendant his father had gifted him of a lizard curled around a mushroom was missing from its place atop his dressing table. It would not be until much later after the stars alone had not failed them and blood already drenched sea shores that he would learn where it had gone.

~ ~ ~

Ñolofinwë was leading him through the more crowded part of a festival, looking for all like it was the grimmest task in the world. Maitimo had caught his father and uncle in the midst of a vicious, but quiet argument and they had quickly broken apart upon seeing him, his uncle grabbing his hand causing Fëanáro to storm off as his half-brother took his willing eldest to a more private space to explain.

Along the way, Maitimo tried to focus on the grand masks and costumes that others swirled around in. It was indeed a chance for the seamstresses, tailors and other fashion-orientated trades to show off their skills, each completing with the others in a friendly sort of competition to see who could create the best design. There were more vivid colours than could be found on the wings of a butterfly or the splendid feathers of many birds, greens and blues and reds and golds swirling around to create a mosaic of living beings in constant motion. Even some of the more sociable Valar had thought to join them, Lord Manwë himself currently dancing alongside his wife with a group of young children. The excitement at this only added to the atmosphere. It was as wonderful as it was overwhelming.

Overall, despite the likely looming conversation, Maitimo was glad his uncle was stealing him away.

At one point, however, something tugged the redhaired elf free of his uncle’s grip. Ñolofinwë was quickly lost amongst the crowd and his nephew found himself face to face with the one being he did not want to face.

Melkor smiled at him, all glass and jagged metal, the whites of his teeth near glowing against his dark attire. “Hello, Nelyafinwë…Maitimo.”

The elf shuddered at the suggestiveness of the pause and the emphasis that followed on his mother-name. “My Lord,” he greeted out of stiff politeness.

“You look absolutely exquisite,” Melkor said. “Near the beauty of any of the Valar here. Your father must surely be proud he has produced such a wonderful creation.”

His words riled Maitimo in the way they seemed to reduce him to nothing more than a doll that graced his father’s halls. Already he had been subjected to the stares of many admirers, some more hopeful than others, that night, yet the focus of the Dark Vala was far more disconcerting though seemingly no more inappropriate. The elf’s mind screamed at him to leave.

“Thank you for your words,” he managed to say, trying to not look as though he were searching for a way out. “But I must find my uncle before the speeches start. If you would excuse me.”

A throng of dancing elves passed them and Maitimo slipped away in their midst, not pausing to see if his own self-dismissal had been received well by the Vala. He spent the next hour trying to search for Ñolofinwë or anyone else he knew, loathe to be alone in that moment and doing his best to avoid the attentions of Melkor. Several times he spotted the dark figure looking around the crowds but thought that he had managed to avoid detection as he had slipped away again.

Still, when a hand suddenly grabbed his arm Fëanáro’s eldest son leapt around, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

“It’s just me, Nelya,” Ñolofinwë said, stepping back to give his nephew some space. “What is wrong?”

Maitimo shook his head, trying to calm himself. “You startled me.”

“In that case, I apologise for causing you such distress,” the elder of them said. “It was not my intention.” His lips drew into a thin line. “Nevertheless, we need to talk. Follow me.”

This time Maitimo stuck closer to his uncle almost like glue, reluctant to be parted and left on his own again. If his behaviour concerned the older elf, Ñolofinwë did not say. Only when they came to a secluded corner mostly shielded from the revelry did the Lord turn back towards him.

“I know you witnessed part of my argument with your father,” he began, his tone serious. “I know you likely heard my concerns about him as well, and what he had to say in reply.”

Maitimo said nothing, shifting in a sort of second-hand discomfort. His father had been quite creative in telling his brother what he thought of his opinions.

“Nelya,” Ñolofinwë said in earnest. “I do not mean to cause undue trouble for your family. Yet, something is not right with your father. He is too easily led by the gossip spread about him.”

Perhaps as easily as his uncle sometimes was, Maitimo thought to himself before chiding himself for thinking it.

“His decisions to forgo trading with the Vanyar for their fabrics in return for our own metalworks is irrational,” Ñolofinwë continued. “As is his refusal to allow my daughter to your house to see her cousins. Though it pains me to say, he is paranoid and excessively so. What has he to fear here? The Valar protect us and none would seek to destroy our way of life.”

Maitimo bit his lips before halting, having often been told it was a habit unworthy of a Prince such as he. There were many things his father was afraid of, though he did not speak of them. These fears seemed to have been mounting in the short years that had passed. Indeed, sometimes the intensity of his father’s frantic states had left him more than a little wary. He wrung his hands, another old habit of his from when he was a child and anxiety loomed over him.  Much like the Dark Vala had only hours before.

He wrung his hands some more.

“What is it, Nelya? You know you can confide in me whatever it is that has made you upset.”

But Ñolofinwë’s comments about Fëanáro’s own exaggerated paranoia gave him pause.

Melkor’s words had not been anymore different than other comments he had received that night – and many more such comments in the past – if only more intense. To imagine a nefarious meaning behind them was perhaps overthinking, prompted by his already anxious state from having to spend time in such a crowded social situation.

Maitimo shook his head. “It is nothing. I am just a little overwhelmed, is all. The festival is very…” He waved his hand.

Ñolofinwë smiled, even loosing a small laugh though a fraction of concern still roosted in his eyes. “That I can understand. It is all a bit much, but I suppose my father must have let my sisters and King Ingwë goad him into such an extravagant display.” Not that Finwë needed an excuse to celebrate his people’s hard work in the true sense of the word. “Just wait until you get married.”

Maitimo grimaced and shook his head again. “I doubt that will happen anytime in the near future.”

“You never know.” But his uncle’s smile soon faded, and that tired shroud covered his face once more. “Will you speak to your mother for me, Nelya? I do not wish to put you in the middle of this, but I fear my brother will only listen to Nerdanel’s council. At least get her to allow my daughter a visit. Please.”

How could he do anything else but nod? Maitimo gave his word he would try and cast the worried thoughts of Melkor from his mind.

~ ~ ~

Once he fell asleep on a bench while visiting in Tirion, surrounded by the lovely gardens that were a source of pride for his grandfather. When he wakes, several roses had been placed next to his head, as vivid and red as blood. More petals had been scattered over him, and though one could blame the wind, there were no trees around to cast the petals. He flung both away from him and said nothing of it to anyone.

~ ~ ~

“The Teleri can hold their breath for far longer than any Noldo can, even you, Tyelko.”

“Shall we put it to the test then?”

“No, Tyelk-”

But his brother had already submerged his head beneath the cooling surface of the lake. Findaráto shrugged at his eldest cousin and leaned so he was floating on his back, counting aloud with a smile.

“This is foolishness,” Maitimo muttered, eyeing the space where his brother’s head had been warily. Only when Tyelkormo reemerged, spluttering, did he let go of the breath he himself had been holding.

“Told you,” their cousin crowed, laughing at Tyelkormo’s mutinous expression.

“Anyone can hold their breath,” he said at last, still slightly breathless. “It’s no great skill.”

Findaráto continued laughing. “But none can master it so well as a Teleri, don’t you agree with me, dear Nelyo?”

Fëanáro’s eldest gave a non-committal shrug, sinking to his nose beneath the water. He did not want to get involved in their argument, as lighthearted as it might have been. His cousin took this in good stride and turned to defend his opinion once more. Huan leapt about in the shallower water and for a while Maitimo watched the hound. At least until it felt as though someone were watching him.

It started as a mild sort of sensation, just an inkling of something off about the air. Quickly, however, the feeling developed into something stronger that seemed as sinister as unfriendly teeth grazing against the back of his neck. Maitimo sunk once more into the water, covering his naked chest with his arms. Huan looked happy enough and neither his brother or cousin had noticed the same disturbance around them. Perhaps he was overthinking again, falling into the same trap that had caught his father’s brilliant mind.

Or perhaps someone _was_ watching him. He stared at the shadows around the lake and they seemed to stare back.

Mind made up, Maitimo began to wade towards the shore. He brushed off the others’ questions, saying that he had tired of swimming and would watch them from the bank. This plan was almost immediately impeded, however, by the sight that greeted him upon the shore or rather what was missing from the pile they had made before giving into the lake’s cool allure.

“Tyelko!”

“What?”

“Did you hide my clothes?” he asked, irritated.

“I can’t hear you,” his brother called back, swimming carelessly with Findaráto. “Come back over here.”

“I asked if you took my clothes,” Maitimo snapped. He was no longer in the mood for his brother’s antics, the unease he had been feeling growing into a more agitated fear. “Yours are here, and Findaráto’s, but mine are not.”

“Aren’t they on the bank with the rest of our belongings?”

“No.”

“Perhaps your eyesight is failing you. You know how mother can never find things around the house though it might be sitting right in front of her. Try looking again.”

“They are not here!”

At his brother’s uncharacteristic shout, Tyelko swam towards him, raising his hands in an appeasing manner towards Maitimo as soon as he was able to stand. A faint look of concern was aired about his face. When he confirmed with his own eyes what had already been said, he called out to their cousin. “Did you hide Nelyo’s things?”

“No,” Findaráto’s bell-like voice answered. “Did Huan take them?”

“He’s been in our sight the entire time.”

“Hold on,” their cousin returned. “I will help you look. They must be around here somewhere.”

Both the younger elves drew themselves up onto the lake’s shore, donning their breeches before moving in opposite directions to look for the wayward clothes. Maitimo himself remained in the water, his ears and cheeks tinged with the red blush of embarrassment and anger. Nervousness too settled upon him and the elf called Huan to keep him company, reaching out to pet the dog when he obeyed.

It took a while for the others to return, though Tyelkormo’s cursing drifted to him on the air as more and more time drained away. The shadows seemed to have grown stronger and Maitimo’s thoughts found themselves drifting unbidden to the Vala who had such a strange fascination with him. Only when Findaráto returned, followed by a dirtied Tyelkormo who clutched his equally dirty clothes, did he begin to relax.

“Found them inside a hollow of a tree halfway up the damned thing,” his brother grunted, diving back into the water, breeches and all, to clean himself again. Though he loved nature, Tyelkormo could be vain when he wanted to be.

“Thank you,” Maitimo said quietly and quickly dressed himself.

“What I don’t know,” his brother continued, “Is how they got there in the first place.”

“Perhaps the wind carried them away,” Findaráto suggested.

Tyelkormo frowned. “Or perhaps it was the word of some overeager elves who are a bit too fond of your mother name and a good joke.”

It would not be the first time that gawkers had made Maitimo uncomfortable and his brother held a deep desire to teach such elves a lesson. Yet, his eldest brother was ever peaceable and Tyelkormo had only ever resorted to punching once for a particularly lewd and particularly drunk ‘admirer’. The elf whistled and Huan came lopping out of the water, shaking it everywhere including onto the disgruntled elves. A subtle command had the hound sniffing around the perimeter of where they stood, though it would do little good for the lake was along a public road and quite popular during the hotter days when elves found themselves with little to do. With no leads to follow, Tyelkormo threw his hands into the air and cursed a general curse. Findaráto mildly suggested that they fetch their horses and start heading back to Tirion.

Maitimo himself just wished to go home.

~ ~ ~

Turkáno was the one to find the note, reading it out at the top of his gleeful lungs. It was a short message from a supposed admirer who had taken notice of his cousin’s beauty and quiet manner. Imaginings of budding love assailed his mind, prompted by his own quickening dalliance with the sweet and wonderful Elenwë.

“See, even you can find love around the next corner,” he teased. “Grandfather will be ecstatic. He has long mourned you ever finding a companion before the rest of us do.”

Maitimo snorted. “It is just an admirer and that is all. Nothing usual and certainly nothing that anything so substantial as love could follow from. We do not even know who sent it.” Though he could feel dark eyes boring into the back of his neck. When he turned, however, nothing was there.

~ ~ ~

He wakes again on a bench, this time just inside his father’s sweltering forge. There was another rose by his head, blood red like the others. Fine chains, however, the ones used in jewelry making, had been draped over his previously prone figure. They fell from him easily enough when he sat up, but their presence alone stirred a great unease inside of him, seeming too much like chains meant to bind and keep him in place by his neck and arms and legs.

Fëanáro’s eldest wished it had been a mere prank from his brothers.

Later that night, as his father presented the Silmarilli to his own father and King, if there were questions to why Maitimo wore no necklace they went unasked. The Crowned Prince’s son looked beautiful enough without them, a clear match for the newest jewels of Fëanáro.

~ ~ ~

There were many more times when Maitimo felt that dark presence, many more times when Melkor sought to approach him, but the worst came right after his father’s banishment.

In the weeks before, tensions in Tirion had risen to an all time high. Half of his cousins were not speaking to his brothers and most of his brothers refused to associate themselves with their supposedly ‘lesser’ cousins, leaving Maitimo to play mediator between them all. He had worn himself entirely out with it and when all had been said and done, the sword raised and the sentence passed, he had turned to follow his father only half out of duty – the other half seemed self-preservation. This had not appeased Findekáno in the slightest and they had argued horribly before their parting, the worst of any arguments they had ever had. His uncle’s disappointed face upon his announcement had also been cutting and upon reaching Formenos he had retreated to the forests behind it, heedless of his family’s calls.

Maitimo wandered for a bit, knowing that soon enough that Tyelkormo and the twins would be sent after him. The redheaded elf found himself dwelling on everything that had happened in the past few weeks, thinking over every little argument and gesture and wondering what he could have done better, how he could have been a better son and heir to avoid ending up where they were now. Yet, nothing he could imagine ever seemed to end well. Always, always his family ended broken and he began to wonder if there was another piece to the puzzle he was missing.

“You spend too much time worrying about them,” a dark voice said behind him.

Maitimo swung around to see Melkor’s smirking face.

“What is it, little elf?” the Vala asked. “Were you not aware you had company such as I?”

Maitimo said nothing, instead stepping back from the dark aura cast around the greater being. Fear prickled against his skin, more potent than it had ever been, and he wondered what would happen next. So many stories his grandfathers had told him and many had drawn a grim picture of the dark.

“Come now,” Melkor chided, his arms outstretched and beckoning. “You would not think that I would so quickly do away with Fëanáro’s eldest son?”

But the elf shook his head, taking another step back. Something dangerous glinted in the Vala’s eyes and he stepped forward, halted only by the sudden barking of a familiar and not so ordinary dog.

 “Another time then,” the Vala sneered and vanished into the air.

When Huan ran up to greet him, Maitimo fell to his knees, clutching the hound’s coat with his trembling hands. But he could not go to his father or grandfather now, not when so much had already happened and dealt his family a cruel blow.

~ ~ ~

“I have watched you for a long time,” the Vala said as he brought one clawed hand to his captive’s face. His fingers stroked a bruise there, caressed a bleeding cut as though their touch alone could heal, as though they had not caused the same cut moments before. Maitimo tried not to shudder beneath them, exhausted from both the lost battle and the grief that now assailed him alongside terror in its aftermath. If he had thought it would end with him at the mercy of their greatest Foe, then he would have listened closer to his brothers’ advice. Moringotto hummed, a smile spreading across his face. “Yes, I think I shall enjoy this greatly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Names:
> 
> Morgoth = Melkor; Moringotto  
> Fëanor = Fëanáro  
> Maedhros = Maitimo; Nelyafinwë (Nelyo/a)  
> Maglor = Makalaurë  
> Celegorm = Tyelkormo (Tyelko)  
> Fingolfin = Ñolofinwë  
> Fingon = Findekáno  
> Turgon = Turkáno  
> Finrod = Findaráto  
> Caranthir = Carnistir
> 
> (I hope this has done justice to your headcanons, Outofangband.) Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this, and check out Outofangband's stuff!


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